Long Jishu

The thin blade, never drying out from the sticky moisture, feeds the soul, saturating it more and more each time, and when its endless supply stops, Long Jishu rages, ready to break free himself, just so these rivers don't stop. He demands more and more, greedy for the only thing that reminds him of life before the conclusion of the contract.

It feeds on the rage of the hand holding the hilt, tugging at the light threads, absorbing them, tearing them with its claws, gnawing, trying to bite into strong fingers. It touches them with the haze, and it spills blood again, to avoid the rage of the soul locked in the weapon. 

More and more often he asks, more and more thirst. His destiny is to serve the spellcaster, with whom he is fighting for power. The man himself chose the path of submission, but he made a mistake. Long Jishu is too willful and will not allow this to happen.

One day, this battle ended. The demon found himself abandoned in some vile fortress with an infinite number of dead souls that could neither perish nor be reborn. Having been waiting for a long time, he missed the blood and began to cry out to the living so that at least someone would take him and free him.

Waiting became an eternity, and during this time Long Jishu learned to leave the receptacle. More precisely, without the light qi, the spell that held him in the metal weakened. He listens to the rare sounds behind the heavy door.

Steps. They are insanely rare, but every time he listens with rapture and hope. They move away. The metal howls, the darkness comes out of its personal confinement, and he beats against the closed doorway, ready to tear his hands bloody, if there was such a possibility, just to leave these walls, to go away.

Souls are the only entertainment, he tears them apart, each time inventing a new torture, but for what? Again and again, endless fights. Long Jishu is ready to swear that he can recognize each victim and list how many times he fought with him.

He had long since left the receptacle, which had become completely weakened without the support of light, and was rushing from corner to corner around the small prison, fighting and studying the blade, which, compared to being here, had fed him more than enough blood for a few short years, feeding his rage.

He hears footsteps again and the sound of the stone door of the dungeon opening. The light flashed and he finally made it outside. Noticing only a human child, he rushed between the coffins in search of adults, wanting to get the body. Realizing that the child had come without adults, he returned back, but did not find this miserable carcass.

Again, an endless battle in anticipation, but the prison is not so small, the door is not closed. More than one room is in his power, but even this is still not enough. The missing sword does not sadden, although it sometimes makes him bored, occasionally he feels the warmth of someone's hand from it.

The demon's power is great. It howls, calling out to the darkness throughout the dungeon. The walls rattled and cracked, and he continued to torment her and the souls until the cries of the living could be heard. Long Jishu listened to the heavy footsteps of the man leading the others. The Hu Clan General is a good catch. 

Having gathered his strength, he rushed into battle, concentrating the shadows on the soul of the sword, forcing it to rebel against the master, and the subordinate spirit does everything that the obedient servants order.

The blade slid across the blue clothes, leaving the usual scarlet trace. The soul torn by the shadows will leave the body, and the flesh... will heal. The man is unable to stand on his feet. He falls, dropping the weapon. Jishu took over power with ease. He staggered slightly, falling to his knees, but caught by the spellcasters under the arms, he stood up, a smile reflected on his lips.

The first steps are difficult, the people chirping nearby are annoying, and a long hunger has risen to the throat. A light swing, and the sword obediently lies in the hand, a few more movements, and the noisily falling bodies shudder in death agony.

Jishu leaned towards the closest one, dipping his barely obedient fingers into the wound, pulled it to his mouth and, inhaling the smell, licked it, feeling the long-forgotten taste. The cut on the new body immediately healed.

The man left knowledge, following it, goes to the dwelling of the general of the Hu Order, goes there, where he will be left alone, given the opportunity to cope with the prey.

Getting to the chambers was not difficult. Already there, Long Jishu listened to the appearance. The pain from the war of different energies inside the body breaks through from under the skin, and he is ready to destroy stone walls, trying to distract himself. Greedily swallowing water, he realized that the occupied flesh is changing, adapting to the new owner. All the meridians are trembling somewhere inside, fighting the darkness. The outcome of this battle is known in advance, you just need to be patient.

Rough nails bend. Jishu bit his fangs, sliding against each other, falling to his knees on the floor with a heavy sigh and stood up again. He found a mirror, admiring it with disappointment. Even a baby would recognize a demon in such a guise, he couldn't leave the chambers now, he had to leave as soon as his condition improved.

The fires of the Underworld are burning in his amber eyes, he looks at their reflection with some kind of tenderness and decides. No, he will not leave, let the man leave if he does not wish to accept, but not the demon. According to the agreement, he should not have been thrown into the dungeon. People were unable to fulfill the smallest demands that were placed on them. Throwing off his dirty clothes, he washed himself and lay down on the luxurious bed with admiration.

The sleep was short, he woke up from a sound, like a call. Not immediately understanding what it was, he went along the empty long corridors. His body was already more obedient, he paid attention to his steps, listening, hiding from strangers' eyes.

Reaching the source and pushing the heavy door, he went inside. On the huge table was a pile of papers, ink, decorations, fans, seemingly harmless. Long Jishu approached, ran his long claws over the weapon, and it responded with caress, clinging with its light to fingers filled with darkness.

He admired them for a while, silently communicating with the souls, recently imprisoned and therefore full of misunderstanding and despair. He looked at his hands and the reflection in the mirror again. Human flesh had finally accepted him, adapted. Jishu took the fans in his hands, like a child to a mother, and baring his fangs with a smile, left the room, deciding to give these entities new forms. His path lay back to the Fortress of Damned Souls.

On his way he met a couple, a man and a woman, walking serenely through the night fortress. Today they were unlucky, they would have to give their bodies to the demon's new acquaintances.

Sharp claws scratch the tabletop again, tapping out a melody known only to him. Golden eyes tear themselves away from the ancient scroll, glide over fresh stripes on the dark wood and concentrate their gaze on the folded fans. A slight smirk, barely perceptible, lay on the face.

The quiet clatter of fangs against each other echoed off the stone walls. He rose from the table and, pushing it aside with a jerk, dropped to one knee. Having sunk his fangs into his palm, without waiting for the trickle to become thinner, he ran his hand along the floor, tracing symbols that merged into an intricate picture, outlined by dark streams of energy.

Having finished the drawing, he stood up, admiring his work, almost lovingly looking at how the darkness fed each symbol. Long Jishu took a deep breath, squeezed the fabric on the chest of those lying at his feet in his fingers and casually threw them into the center of the picture. Having hit the floor, they groaned, choking on their own blood, but the gaze, barely glancing over the wounded, only flared up more.

Squeezing trembling thin fingers on dirty fabrics, with broken lips, barely tearing them apart, the man moaned barely audibly:

— Release me.

The demon pressed one of the fans to his chest, and with his other hand, with a clanking sound of metal, opened the second one. A piercing echo of a scream was heard, the wounded received another cut, and a thin line of darkness smoothly descended on them.

The symbols flared, enveloping the lying couple, plunging them into fog, the moans died down. Pleas no longer hurt your ears, only energy howls, executing orders under the attentive gaze of a pair of eyes. Silence. The chest does not sway. A smile fell on the lips. Without taking his eyes off, he looked at the closed eyelids, frozen. This experiment seems to have gone well. All that was left was to wait for awakening.

Zui He

Pain. The first thing he felt when he came to his senses. The young man opened his eyes and involuntarily shuddered. In the semi-dark room, the silhouette of a tall warrior was dimly visible.

— Who are you? — the words come hard, it looks like he is wounded. Looking around, he frowned, — where are we?

Eyes shining with golden light suggest sad thoughts. What did he do wrong that he ended up in such a deplorable situation? Did he really deserve during his lifetime only an afterlife in the Underworld? In an incomprehensible place, wounded, alone with a demon. He doesn't remember anything and turns to the only one who can probably clarify the situation now:

— And who am I?

Long Jishu

The wait is forever. He watches his creation with interest, it's good that one has already come to his senses, a slight smile has adorned his face. Joy, perhaps it is precisely this that has now settled in his chest, a successfully performed ritual. One of those that he studied in this place, while he was still without flesh. Getting up, he went to the table, where there was a jug of water, poured it into a bowl and went up to... who? He thought for a moment, sat down next to him, and handed over the capacity.

Who really is the one in front of him now? This is no longer the person who was brought here by Long Jishu and not the fan, but something in common. The soul that was captured in the exquisite weapon has now found its home in a human body. Remembering myself, took a closer look, not noticing any changes. Taking the palm with his hand, he put the cup in it and, grabbing the back of the head, lifted it up, forcing it to drink.

— It's just water, drink. I'll tell you everything, but you need to heal the wounds and wait for the maiden to wake up.

Zui He

The voice torments, gnawing into the brain like an annoying insect, and after taking a sip, the young man looked around, looking for something.

Fan. Against his will he reached for the thin plates, but weakness prevented him from taking them. His hand fell limply, never having touched the desired thing.

Forgetting about fear, Zui He grabbed the demon's sleeve. The fan was the straw that could help. It seems that if he takes it in his hands, everything will fall into place.

— Help. Give me this fan, I can't think about anything else. I beg you.

Yun Xu

It seems that the maiden is accustomed to waking up from a headache. Or is it? Voices dig into the brain like sharp needles. Who's here? She doesn't understand whether she asked or just thought. It feels like cavalry has just ridden over her. The bones are turning out, she feels sick, it’s hot, as if she’s been dipped into a boiling vat. Barely finding the strength in herself, she tried to feel something and squeeze out words.

— Who's here? Where am I?